Welcome To My Life
by MadiBuzz
Summary: Blaine is still in the closet, Kurt has an abusive father and neither of them are really enjoying their lives. What will change when their two different worlds collide? Klaine AU with a little twist. Read and review?
1. Beginnings

**Hey readers! This is the beginning of a story I had an idea for, and I wanted the first chapter to show Kurt's past and what his life was like, so this chapter is him as a child. I will probably do a similar but maybe a bit shorter look at Blaine's life around this time at the beginning of the next chapter, then go straight into the teenage years when they meet. Klaine AU in which Kurt and Blaine were switched at birth.**

**PS- Their first names are magically the same. Please review at the end!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.**

Many years ago in Westerville:

As Kurt's frail body hit the cold, harsh tile of the kitchen floor, he knew he wouldn't last much longer if his real secret got out. Harold's Anderson's muttered curses and threats faded away slowly with his clunky step, each stride an obvious reflection of his mood. Only hesitating until the room was completely silent, Kurt pulled himself off the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. It was his way of protecting himself, while still being in a position comfortable enough not to be pressing on any of his existing bruises. He didn't want to endure any more pain than had already been induced.  
>His father, however, didn't feel the same way.<p>

At the age of seven, what should've so far been the happiest year of his life, Kurt Daniel Anderson had experienced a number of beatings higher than what most children his age could count to.

If only his mother wasn't so oblivious to Harold's perpetual rage, maybe that way she would stay home often enough to notice his growing quantity of bruises. He was pretty sure she didn't know. How would she? For the seldom times that she was within proximity of he and his father, Harold would paint on his 'everything is okay' smile and feed her blatant lies from his hand. And that was all she had time for before she would strut back out the door, her dark curls practically flying behind her. Unless the so-called 'hug' she would grant Kurt before leaving counted. Which was usually more the kind of hug you would see between two celebrities who don't actually like each other than a mother and her seven year old son. They were empty and insincere, devoid of any emotion. Her embrace left much to be desired, but it was all Kurt had left.

Finally snapping back to the present, Kurt collected the remains of his strength and tugged himself upward, tightly gripping the countertop in hopes of getting more leverage. Despite the fact that his knees were still shaking like jelly, he managed to edge his way out of the kitchen, maintaining his grip on the marble counter along the way. He was just about to purloin his coat from its brightly coloured hook and sneak out through the back door when a sound from the living room told him otherwise. Frozen in place he stood, waiting for his cue to stay or to go.

"... And the score in our seventh inning here is..." An announcer's voice boomed. The pale boy allowed a sigh of relief to escape. False alarm. While his father vegetated on the couch, becoming more and more engrossed in the television by the second, a window of opportunity was opened for Kurt. Or in this case, a door, which he promptly pushed open into the cool fall breeze. The old hinges squeaked in complaint, but thanks to his slim body and the agility that comes with childhood, he squeezed through the tiny opening with no trouble. Making sure to close it behind him, Kurt hopped down the cement stairs, not daring to touch the splintering wooden handrail.

You would think that growing up in a rather high-end neighbourhood and a rich family, they could at least afford a better back way out of the house (especially considering how grand the rest of the building was.). But no. Mr. Anderson was a stingy man, a modern day Scrooge in many aspects: he believed not spending his money on others was the best way to hold on to it, and showed affection sparingly as if it were a non-renewable resource. Everything he had and was could be described as two words: harsh and businesslike, and that included his abode. It was a roof and walls, a fancy shelter, but not a home.  
>Not to Kurt.<p>

With a last backward glance at the foreign, hostile place, he whipped his head around to face the wind and strode in the only direction he knew. Past houses and happy families he walked, dry leaves crunching under him with every one of his footsteps. He rounded corner after corner, gradually escaping the winding and familiar maze. And at last he saw it, the light at the end of the tunnel. Just beyond the metal gates that barricaded the neighbourhood from outsiders sat a modest-sized playground, Kurt's ideal hiding place on the dark days so often occurring in his world. Hesitation was not an option. He needed to get to that place, he craved the sense of security it provided him with. No time could be wasted. Adjusting his coat to give his neck better coverage, he sprinted directly to the side of the gates and slipped between the post and a nearby tree.

Now he was free! Ignoring the wind gnashing at his cheeks, , his legs broke back into a run, all the way to the swing set. Limbs as thin and wiry as his had no issue lifting him onto the first seat. Having made contact with it, he wiggled his bottom into a comfortable position and fumbled for the chains it was hanging from. He began swinging, sticking out his legs and curling them back again to gain height. This was a technique he had learned unwillingly. After all, he never had anyone there to push him.

Across the playground, he could see other children and parents, exchanging hugs, laughing and generally carrying on like families should. Kurt didn't even realize he had sighed until he felt the warm air rushing from between his lips. Throughout his childhood, he had always wished for more. More forgiveness, more love, more of a family than his abusive father and ghost of a mother who was more like a distant relative to him. Although he supposed she was better than his father, not the father he once had, but the constantly angry beast he had come to recognize over that course of the past two years. Kurt was still confused as to what he did to unleash this monster.

He had always been a good boy; he never talked out of turn or picked fights, he was an excellent student at school, and he smiled a lot, despite the fact that inside he was crying out in agony. All he knew was that one day his daddy came home with a stony expression and an empty bottle in hand, grumbling nonsensical generalities to no one in particular. It was still blur in his mid, nothing more than a fuzzy image of himself curled up in a foetal position sobbing and clutching his wrist. And now that was his life. You know, tear filled nights, hasty escapes to the park and waking up each morning to do it all over again as if everything was okay. His situation at school was a marginal improvement- he always had his guard up, which made it difficult for anyone to know who he truly was. But that was fine with him. He was used to being alone.

He took a quick glance at a few other kids on the playground, now seemingly miles beneath him. A shy little boy was sitting near the tire swing, watching a pigtailed blonde swing on it, pushing with her legs between giggles. His mother seemed to think he wanted to go on the tire swing, but Kurt's uncanny ability to read people taught him better. It wasn't the tire swing he was interested in but the person using it, although Kurt couldn't claim he understood why. His mother and father had always told him that girls like boys and boys liked girls, and that was the way it should be. But he just... didn't. He thought that girls were nice, and he didn't have any problems with them. They just didn't have the same appeal to him as boys. Of course, he wouldn't dare tell anyone. His dad would probably call it abnormal or freakish or one of those other words Kurt wasn't allowed to say, and it would end badly for the both of them.

Kurt watched in envy as the little boy wobbled over to his mother, begging to be brought home. _Take me with you, _Kurt wanted to cry out, even though he knew perfectly well it was no use. The sky above was already beginning to darken, and he couldn't be late for dinner if he valued his safety. _One... two.. THREE! _he counted in his head, leaping off of the swing set and gliding into the sand below. He stood up, dusted himself off and put on a brave face as he started his journey back to his own personal nightmare.

**Review and let me know what you thought! Till next time!**


	2. Nice to meet you

**I'm on a roll. Been writing like crazy. This was actually done yesterday but I didn't get to stay on the computer long enough to post it. Enjoy chapter 2 and please review!**

"What's up, lady?" Came the cold, cruel taunts of Azimio, followed by an equally icy liquid. Kurt, now in his junior year of high school, didn't even bother to flinch. Slushies to the face were pretty much as natural and expected as breathing by now. He just wiped the slush out of his eyes and trudged off in the general direction of the bathroom, wondering what he did to deserve this. Although he was only physically weighed down by his shoulder bag and a textbook, his legs felt heavier than ever before. Years had dragged by, years of counsellors and teachers who thought they knew him telling him his life would improve. And yet nothing had changed. He was still being pushed around like he didn't matter. One would think the school would WANT to prevent a prize student from merciless torture, but one would be wrong. For all Kurt knew, the school was more concerned for the safety of the garbage cans than his.

He pushed open the door to the boys room resignedly, peeking his head around the corner to check for potential tormentors in the vicinity. Nope, the coast was clear. A soft swishing of someone washing their hands at a nearby sink was the only noise, save for the occasional creaks of the piping. Kurt slipped into the closest stall and went to work. With minimal effort he slid off his clothes (surprisingly, the slushy actually helped him to remove them) and pulled on some less wet attire. Satisfied with his appearance, the countertenor made a couple of adjustments and stepped out to the mirrors. Swish... Swish... The sound of the water circulating was obvious in the otherwise quiet room. With a smooth, gentle hand, he turned on the tap.

He looked up at the mirror to analyze his face as the warm water graced his skin. Many a face had passed by these mirrors, but never had they been so contorted with confusion and raw emotion. Several pairs of eyes had gazed into these mirrors, but none of them held the same beautiful, exhausted quality as his. No one saw the deep sadness they withheld, for it often was lost in the sea of crystal blue. He had a fair few lines on the contours of his face. Most of them were probably caused by his many worries, troubles that no boy his age should have to deal with. Worries Kurt didn't deserve. After all the brutality he had been through, his face was virtually unscathed (his father was usually smart enough to avoid it). His cheeks, once rosy and aglow with love, had faded to an almost sickly dull white. Evidently though, it wasn't a big enough difference for anyone to notice. He hastily tucked his hair behind his ear with a single finger. And with a last backward glance as he walked away, he exited the restroom. He had though it to be vacant. However, the gelled-down head of hair of a certain someone that he saw out of the corner of his eye was causing him to have second thoughts...

He slumped the rest of the way down the hall to his locker, greeting the few friendly faces that were actually in the building at this time of day. He spun the numbers simply and without effort, as it was such a routine part of his life that it didn't require any. All was quiet for just a moment- until the locker sprung open. An exploding mass of colors fluttered to the floor around Kurt, leaving him angry and alone amidst the chaos. Like always. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, closing his eyes. Hiding his emotions was something he had become accustomed to. He would've sighed, but deemed it pointless and didn't bother. Little did he know that as he bent over to retrieve the unruly papers , he was being watched.

"Hey! Do you want some help over there?" A masculine voice called, startling Kurt.

"Do we know each other? Or is this another sick joke? Because I've learned to recognize them."

Click, click, click, came the sound of the boy's footsteps, his face soon trailing behind. Even in the dim lights of the hallway (the janitor turned most of them off after 4pm to save power) Kurt could see how handsome this person was. His face held a rather distinguished air to it, although he couldn't have been any older than Kurt if his hobbit-like stature was any indication. Large, but not to a point of extremity his eyebrows were, resting just above his eyes, accenting the deep hazel hues. The hair on his head, which he clearly spent a fair bit of time on, was held firmly in place by mountains of product. The angles of his face were defined indeed, but did jut out or look unattractive. He wasn't baby-faced either, as his manhood was made painfully obvious by the tiny razor cut on one side of his otherwise immaculate face. His nose was the perfect size too, not too tiny, but not gigantic and wouldn't get in the way when kissing. And his lips, well, Kurt wasn't sure he should get started thinking about lips like that.

It was decided.

He was flawless.

In fact, his features were only darkened by hurt, despite his desperate effort to hide it.  
>"What do you mean?" He spoke in a soft tone, which confirmed Kurt's preconceived notion. Kurt sighed, He was really not in the mood to talk, especially to someone he just met, solely thanks to his explosive locker. Besides, he was pretty sure this gorgeous stranger didn't bat for his team, judging by his simple outfit and kind (but generally boyish) presence. <p>

"Never mind. Look, it's nothing personal, okay? But could you please leave me alone? I'm not in the best mood to be talking to someone, in case you haven't already noticed." A shrug. 

"If you insist." He agreed,, but he still looked hesitant to leave, not that Kurt could understand why.

"Take care of yourself." He added before disappearing back into the shadows. But as soon as he was gone and Kurt was left to his mess, he found something amongst it all that didn't belong to him. He snatched up the item for analysis, realizing upon a closer look that the object was indeed a pen, engraved custom. That guy who had just left must've dropped it in his rush, at least, that was Kurt's best guess. He rolled it between his fingers, trying to make out the words scrawled on the side in tiny lettering. _Blaine Hummel, _it read, the name reverberating in Kurt's head with a strange familiarity._ Where had he heard that name before?_

*SEPARATION LINE SEPARATION LINE SEPARATION LINE SEPARATION LINE SEPARATION LINE*

He was perfect.

Everything about him was perfect.

These were the thought running through Blaine Hummel's head as he almost missed the couch because he was so lost in his world. He wanted to get to know that strange, shy boy, but he didn't even know his name. But that was easily remedied. He just needed to bump into him again and make it look like an accident, because from what he could deduce, this boy would not take kindly to being followed. It all seemed so easy in his head, although it couldn't be that way in reality and he knew it. Anyone that sheltered and defensive was unlikely to open up to him, especially after their interaction at the lockers earlier that day.

But he had to try! He couldn't explain his desire- no, no, desire wasn't the right word- need to talk to him. It was insane, because Blaine (of all people) was not one to believe in silly little clichés like love at first sight. He could be a sap at time, but not to that extent. Yet... He couldn't help his fascination. In his mind he was replaying their meeting over and over and over again, trying to extract any tidbit of information he could from that single scene.

The way the boy dressed- fitted and flamboyant attire, and Blaine suspected, expensive. At least two of the items on his person must've been designer, and Blaine was pretty sure he didn't just wake up with his hair looking like that. Not to mention the intensity of his gaze. Blaine gave a low shudder just thinking about it. When those crystal blue orbs were directed on him he was fairly certain they were looking into his soul. But there was something else in those eyes, something apparently lost to everyone else. He couldn't quite identify it, only suspect that it was anger that dulled the beautiful color. Traces of misery, however, were easy to pick up. He didn't know the cause yet. All he found out from a bit of asking around was that no one really did. No one knew his name, let alone his true identity. But not for long.

Blaine sighed. Who was he kidding? Half the time he didn't know who HE was, let alone anyone else. He was confused and bored with his life as a whole, despite all the luck he had come across throughout it. He had parents who loved him, decent grades at school and reasonable likability, judging by his growing social circle. As far as he was concerned, he was heading in the right direction. He just didn't know where that would take him. So the nameless boy was less of a roadblock to him as much as he was an exit taking him to a route he hadn't thought of before. Now all Blaine had to do was make the turn.

"Hey kiddo! How was school?" Burt asked, startling Blaine. A few grease spots tainting his face made themselves known as he strolled into the room.

"Geez, dad! Give a guy a warning. I'm too young for heart attacks." Burt chuckled nonchalantly.  
>"You didn't answer my question, son." Blaine didn't give a moment's thought to his reply. "It was great."<p>

Burt just shook his head. Blaine may have been in the room, but his head was in the clouds.  
>"Are you alright there, Blaine? You seem a little... Out of it." The latter nodded.<p>

"I'm fine. I guess I just have a lot on my mind right now." Burt nodded back to show understanding.

"Daydreaming about girls, by any chance?"

Blaine sighed internally. He was about to burst and send truth exploding all over the room, but it wasn't the right time or place. After all, Kurt wasn't the only one with secrets.

**Please review, it means so much to me!  
>Till next time,<br>Madi**


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